


just a page torn from the story

by TheSushiMonster



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: 5 Times, Angst, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 21:10:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10602291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSushiMonster/pseuds/TheSushiMonster
Summary: Fives times Rip told Sara he loved her and the one time she said it back.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plinys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plinys/gifts), [AllisonSwan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonSwan/gifts), [scofieldsnarts](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scofieldsnarts/gifts).



> Huge shout out to Jess (for making me jealous enough to write more of this ship), Maii (for encouragement), and Stef (for beta-ing). Love you guys.

1.

When Sara smirks - because her eyes glitter with a mix of mischief and amusement, as if she knows what’s she about to say will give Rip a heart attack - Rip feels his stomach clench. “What are you doing?”

“Who says I’m doing anything?” Sara leans against the doorway to his office and Rip must look skeptical because she only grins wider. “Mick and Ray want to make a pit stop.”

“Absolutely not.” There is no hesitation, a moment’s pause - because the _last_ time Mick Rory wanted to make a pit stop there were broken bones, wasted alcohol, and a life-long banishment. And Rip could confidently say he’s surprised only two of three rested upon himself.

He does not wish to test his luck.

Sara pouts - _pouts_ , because her lip quivers and she takes a step towards him and Rip feels like he’s burning alive. “ _Aw_ , c’mon Captain! We haven’t seen an aberration in _days_ \- it’ll be good to get out.”

Of course, she has a point, but Rip is too distracted by her eyes. And her lips. And her. “Bloody hell,” he mutters and Sara’s smirk quickly returns. “Gideon!”

“ _Already on it, Captain_.”

Shaking his head, Rip watches Sara slip out of his office, most likely to tell Mick and Ray they got permission. The words tumble out of his lips, even as her blonde hair whips past the corner. “You’re lucky I love you.”

Sara does not turn around and Rip does expect her to. Instead, he sighs, sinking into his chair, hands gripping his hair.

(Rip makes sure to drink or hide all of his alcohol before they land.)

* * *

2.

It’s funny, because the team used to joke, calling this the _shame cube_.

It’s funny, because the very last emotion he feels is shame.

Instead, Rip feels anger. His skin is red, ears sharp and pointed and aching for the silence that comes with loneliness. His nail dig deep into his own palms; the crescent imprints do not fade when she turns the corner and stands in front of him, the glass of his prison making her white sweater reflect in color.

“Rip.” Her voice is hard, but quiet, as she struggles to maintain his eye contact.

“Sara.” His voice is hard, but loud, and satisfaction settles deeply in his gut when Sara flinches. “Come to beg? To plead?” Rip laughs, and somewhere in his own mind he thinks it sounds - fake, wrong, misplaced. It’s more like broken glass than unpolished crystal. “The Rip Hunter you know is dead. You’ll soon join him.”

Her eyes flash and this time, his triumph is coated in a hint of - _something_ , not quite guilt, but maybe suspicion. Sara leans against the barrier, the skin of her hand flat. He spares a glance at the flesh but decides to keep her looking into his eyes - maybe they unnerve her, maybe they will get her to give up, to quit -

“I know you’re in there, Rip. And I will bring you home.”

Rip smirks. His face curves into a face that will haunt her, because that its purpose, and Rip watches his heart lift and his stomach soak in the words as they leave his lips. They’re poison, and there’s no cure.

“Why?” Rip leans forward onto his knees. “Because you thought Rip Hunter loved you?” A laugh, bubbling in acid, leaving a trail of blood and bone. “Maybe he did. But now? Now I can’t wait to see you in Hell.”

Sara leaves, hands behind her back, and Rip suspects they may be shaking. But all he feels is cold detachment despite his face contorted into a semblance of triumph.

(When the memories return, when his mind is his once again, that’s when Rip feels mostly shame.)

* * *

3.

_Dear Sara,_

_If you are reading this letter, then I successfully left the Waverider without you dragging me back. I don’t know for certain if I am grateful for that or not._

_I do know, however, that I told you the truth - I am leaving because I no longer have a role on this team. You have been a better captain than I will ever be. But your words still resonate with me - I guess, I too, am a legend. But to be a legend, I need to find the next chapter of my story._

_Unfortunately, I do not believe that chapter includes the team. Or, more specifically, you._

_But I think Phil discovered something very important about my story. Sandra was the hero in his movie. And Sara, you are the hero of my life._

_I love you._

_And that terrifies me._

_So while I leave to find myself, I am selfishly distancing myself from you. I need time to think, darling Sara, and I’m not sure if you’re ready to hear my confession. But I am ready to give it. Maybe someday, if and when I return to the team - to you - we can either discuss it or forget it all together._

_Whatever you wish._

_Until then, until that someday, take care of the ship. Take care of Gideon. I trust no one better._

_Love,_

_Rip_

(He almost forgets to leave the letter, but when Sara runs him into on his way out - he circles his way back to his - now _her_ \- office. He tapes the letter to a bottle of scotch.)

* * *

4.

The night he returns - because the day is filled with chaos and hugs and fixing time itself - Sara pulls him into her bedroom.

At first, Rip is nervous. She is still a beauty, a marvel, and his heart still races when she breathes. But then she kisses him - no words, just breaths, whispers of nothing against his shocked mouth. Rip kisses her back, of course he does, with promises of his heart in each movement of his lips, his tongue, his teeth. And while her hands pull him closer by his collar, dropping his jacket - then his shirt - and finally his belt - Rip explores and savors each touch and each breath.

Because, for once, Rip wants to be alive long enough to have Sara, completely and fully. He wants to be alive long enough to embrace her while kissing her skin and holding her fingers within his.

Rip wants to love her and he does not care if she does not love him back.

When he kisses along her body, down her chest and stomach, lingering below her navel - he whispers the confession - _I love you Sara Lance_ \- into her skin. Sara arcs into his touch and Rip loves her, so much, with his heart and his soul and his skin and his lips -

So when they are finally a mess of tangled, naked limbs, Rip just kisses her hair and does not say anything. Sara remains silent too. Her breathing grows heavy and her eyelids remain closed; Rip knows she sleeps in his arms and he doesn’t try to hold back his happy smile.

Fingers trace along her spine. He draws circles, spirals, tiny hearts.

He writes out _I love you_.

(Later, he’ll tell her. He’s returned home.)

* * *

5.

Rip knows grief.

He’s intimately acquainted with the feeling of his heart breaking, shattering into tiny pieces, crushed between his fingers and digging into his palms. He knows how it feels to have fragments of his soul scattering into oblivion, to crave the numbing sensation of alcohol to dull the constant _pain_ as his body and his mind and his heart and his soul crumble. He knows what it feels like to want to _die_ , to struggle to keep breathing, to keep _living_ because if there is one thing he can do to battle grief - it is to not let it win.

So when Sara falls, surprise etched onto her face and blood seeping between her fingers, Rip does not scream and he does not cry and he certainly does not lose his mind. Instead, he fires straight between the bastard’s eyes and falls to his knees beside her body.

Grief is a familiar friend. Almost welcome, at this point. And when Rip pulls her head into his lap and rocks, the pain quickly spreading, he has to believe he is cursed.

Rip Hunter may love Sara Lance, but grief is his scorned mistress and she will not be ignored.

And it is with grief dancing on his back that he leans into her lips, kissing away as much death as possible, and whispers: _I love you I love you I love you._

(Unfortunately, fairy tales do not come true.

True love’s kiss does not bring her back to life.)

* * *

\+ 1.

Maybe, if things were different, it would have gone something like this:

“Miss Lance, please consider the alternative - if we try to outmaneuver _time itself_ \- I don’t think - “

Sara pulls him by his arm out of the bridge, away from the rest of the team. “Rip, please tell me this has nothing to do with - “

“ _Of course it has everything to do with you_ dying!” Rip grabs her arms, gently, but firm. He wants to shake her, to make her _understand_ , but blood races in his ears and all he can see is _her_ , dead, in his arms - “Sara, I can’t bare to witness your death.”

She softens, immediately, and her hands rest on his cheeks. “Rip, you knew this was a possibly. You _knew_ , when you recruited us - when you picked _me_ \- “

“I didn’t know I’d fall in love with you.”

His words echo in the empty hallway. He suspects the rest of the team hover by the door - waiting, listening, anticipating - but all Rip cares about, in this moment, is Sara, looking at him like the universe is in his hands and all she has to do jump to explode into a supernova.

Slowly, gradually, Sara smiles. It’s  _that_ smile - the one that lights up her entire face, eyes glowing and lips so wide she can fit stars between them. She’s always looked like an angel, but in that moment she _is_.

“I shouldn’t be surprised it took you this long.” Her hands slip past his head to rest behind his neck and she steps closer. Rip opens his mouth but Sara shakes her head. “Don’t talk.”

Rip listens.

“I waited for you - for you to _say_ it, to me, to my face. I’ve waited for you to be ready - because when I read your letter?” Her thumb moves lazily against his skin and it’s so distracting, but her voice is fire and he is just a humble moth. “I knew you weren’t. You were scared. You said so.” Her forehead rests against his; she smells like cucumbers and grease. “But I knew. I knew I loved you too.”

Rip kisses her. Because that’s what he does in his imagination - he kisses her until he can’t breathe, until his life is hers, and until her skin feels warm and her eyes glittering with laughter. He kisses her and he loves her and she kisses him and she loves him.

And then, Rip wakes up.

And Sara is still dead and he lives without knowing if she ever loved him too.


End file.
